


Roses Red, Lilies White

by artisturtle



Series: Her Midnights, Her Mornings [5]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Hurt, Supercorp Ficnette #5, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 05:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisturtle/pseuds/artisturtle
Summary: She smiles a little at the blonde child, remembering that her daughter is just five and five years is still too young an age to lose someone so great. She kneels in front of the little girl so she could be at eye level with her daughter, whose blue eyes remind so much of her.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Series: Her Midnights, Her Mornings [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207067
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Roses Red, Lilies White

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Here's a new SuperCorp vignette for you to read. It's short but I hope you like it, please let me know if you do! Don't forget to leave a comment and put a kudos on this one. I hope you enjoy!

The weather is perfect for visiting graves. The sky is a pewter-gray color, its pallor sickly and somber, with the hint of impending rain. There’s a wind that constantly knocks off the remainder of the leaves from the previous summer.

She pulls her coat closer to her body, hoping to ward off the chill brought upon by the wayward autumn breeze. Something tugs at her coat -- hesitant and full of calculated shyness. She gently holds the hand that's been clinging to her coat the whole time and she cradles the tiny hand in hers. Together, they walk on the smoothed flagstone walkway, the clicking of her heels indented by the soft scuffle of a pair of sneakers trailing not far behind.

It takes them a few minutes before they finally get to their destination. The first thing she notices is the fresh blooms of red roses on a reed-hewn basket, placed right next to the smooth marble slab glinting white against the afternoon sun.

_ Alex had been here earlier. _

“Momma?” she turns around to the small child clutching at her hand. “Who brought Mommy flowers today?”

She smiles a little, remembering that her daughter is just five and five years is still too young an age to lose someone so great. She kneels in front of the little girl so she could be at eye level with her daughter, whose blue eyes remind so much of  **_her_ ** _. _

“I don’t know, baby. Wanna make a bet on it?” she says softly as she pushes a lock of wayward hair behind the child’s button ear. “I bet it was Uncle Clark who brought this.”

The girl seems to be deep in thought, considering her answers. “No Momma, I think it’s Auntie Al because only Auntie Al likes red roses,” she says after some time. She shrugs. “And she says...she says sisters should bring each other red roses because that’s what sisters do.”

It takes everything in her not to tear up in front of the child she had nurtured on her own for five years. Instead, she takes her hand and they turn to face the headstone carved with a name that is also carved in her heart. Running through her fingers on the indented letters, her heart breaks once again, and the pain washes her like it just happened yesterday.

“Come on, Lori. Say hello to Mommy,” she coaxes the child as the two of them squat on the grass on opposite sides of the headstone. “Tell her what you did today at school.”

“Hello Mommy,” the blonde-haired child says, her voice even and well-volumed. She runs her grubby hands on the smooth stone, as though she exactly knows what it means. “I miss you, Mommy. We all miss you, but me and Momma miss you the most.”

She tightly grips at the knees of her denim jeans as she watches the child trail a finger on the letters. She waits, listening to her own heartbeat and trying to remember what’s it like to listen to another heartbeat -- one that does not belong to her and one that she had been so used to hearing for a long time, but now only committed to memory.

“Momma bought me ice cream today,” Lori says, pride thick and full in her voice. “‘Cause I didn’t bite no friends at school today, Mommy. And I...I drew a...a house with you in it. Then tonight, we’ll head to Jerry’s baseball game because Auntie Al says so.”

Her daughter keeps on talking -- about pre-school, her big cousin Jerry, and how she wants to be a superhero someday, too. Lori talks about her sea monkeys and how her Momma had promised her a trip to the zoo on Saturday.

It’s what she focuses on -- not the phantom pain in her chest.

Eventually, Lori finally runs out of things to talk to her Mommy and the child turns to her. “Momma, it’s time for you to say hello to Mommy.”

Suddenly, she feels conscious, because she knows Lori is watching her. Still, she moves closer to the headstone and she puts down the basket of lilies she’s been carrying with her earlier. She puts it next to Alex’s basket of red roses.

“Hey love,” she whispers, and it’s all that she could say. There are no words really, nothing to say. Every time she visits her wife’s tomb, she’d always end up saying two or three words before falling silent -- she’ll always have no words for the pain and the loss.

_ How can you have words for something ineffable? How can you have words if you lose the most significant part of yourself? _

“Momma, are you alright?”

She feels Lori’s hand over hers, following the trail left by her fingertips. She smiles at Lori -- she might have lost the other half of her, but here’s one person they have made that is half of her and half of her wife, holding her hand and letting her lean on without conditions, without rewards, with nothing but love and adoration on her face and worry written in the scrunch of her brow.

“I just miss Mom,” she finally says and as she looks up, she stares at the clouds slowly drifting by. A sliver of blue peeks out from the dapper gray. Quietly, they stand from where they’ve been sitting, and she holds her hand for Lori to take.

“I miss her just as much as you,” she says, crouching so she could look at Lori in the eye. As she gives the headstone another look, a single tear runs down her cheeks. She briefly feels Lori’s little fingers wiping the warm trail away from her face.

“Don’t cry Momma,” the child says and she holds her hand in her tiny ones. “She loves you, you know.”

Lori’s hand is comforting in her own, and she vaguely feels her squeeze gently, reminding her that she exists here and grounding her, bringing her away from that deep, dark place of loneliness and anchoring her so she doesn’t drift away.

She gently squeezes back.

**(#)**

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! Thanks for reading through this. Add me on Twitter @artisturtle!


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